Voyage of Asclepius
by Nogias
Summary: Erik decides to end his life, but is stopped by an unlikely angel, who takes him away. Where will they go? Read and Review!
1. Default Chapter

_Author's note: Hello everyone, and thank you for clicking on this link to possibly even read this story I typed up. Just note that of course, I do not own the characters or the story. In fact, I only own the silly twists and turns that I have placed on a combination of both story and the infamous film now out. This is more of a overlapping of both film and the book, the following chapter begins seven months after the first production of Don Juan Fantastic. So constructive criticism is highly encouraged, and any little notes you'd like to leave, great! Please note that I have indeed taken artistic liscence, I am using the imagery of the film. However the pathetic excuse of an explanation for Erik's origins are completely tossed out! I have based on my own interpretation of both Gaston Leroux's version and my sick imagination this new take on Erik's life after Christine leaves and the events thereafter. Ta-da! Oh, and by the way.. Don't steal my writings, I'll send my flying monkies after you._

_On with the show!  
Music for chapter setting: Beethovens 7th symphony: Allegretto movement_

Chapter 1: A false vision and sick reality

_September 20th, 1881 C.E._

Light rain fell down upon the raw cobblestone streets, though the stones were thoroughly washed from the torrential falls from earlier, the rains had settled to a lighter pace and fell from the heavens above. All the shops and townhouses surrounding the square encasing the Opera house took on cleaner appearance damp with the cleansing waters. However above the streets, far above watching carefully was a man's soul that could not be washed clean. Or at least as he thought, and never giving into the fresh feeling the droplets left upon his exposed flesh.

Erik simply leaned from the ruined structure's railing, staring down at the empty town below him. His eyes were blind to his own mind's imagination running rampant. In his mind streets were filled with people, the skies were filled with brilliant stars as the opera.. no, HIS opera filled with people eager to attend the night's performance. Which of course would star one of the most beautiful women in the world, his angel. Christine Daae was alongside him atop the roof, staring at the heavens and speaking..

"Erik?"

He shook his head and turned to her, taking in every single detail of her face and presence, cherishing it for all it was..

"Erik, did you hear what I just said?" her inquisitive face calm, but faintly twisted with a bit of impatience.

"No, I'm sorry my dear. I was.. thinking.." his eyes seemed to take focus now upon her deep blue eyes staring up at him.

The impatient look upon her face turned into a quirky smile, her eyes lighting up with a strange emotion. "I just wanted to thank you for your generation donations to our Opera, knowing that you have already contributed enough to our endeavor. Your assistance, lessons.. Everything have meant so much to me, and everyone here.."

He smiled, his thoughts running from present to future. Knowing he had spent so many years as the rich Vicomte and supporter of the small opera house, but also calling upon the young girl personally to see to her voice lessons. He still remembered the first time that he had ever heard her voice, Christine's sweet tones.

He had been sitting at a small café for an important meeting right outside the opera house, sipping carefully upon his tea. The troupe of ballet girls had been about the small square shopping for various items, following the stern figure of Madame Giry. However one girl had remained behind, looking to be only in her late teens, and not very distinct from the other slender women chattering. If only for one thing. She had been humming to herself. He had always had an ear for music, and to the surprise of the gentleman he was meeting with, he simply stood up from the meeting and walked directly to the mistress leading them. He inquired of their origins and why they were about the town. Donations, dedication, time.. everything he didn't have (he was a handsome and dedicated figure of society with little time to spare) became a reality as he shaped the very opera that was the direct attention of all of Paris now.

Most of his attentions laid upon this lone ballet dancer. Her lack of skill on the dance floor were nothing less than new to him. Most of the gaggling troupe had no skill. But she had the voice that only god could have instilled within her. He paid for her every need, lesson, even sometimes instructing her voice himself (as he was quite good with music). Why shouldn't he? He had almost 20 years of schooling in the finest of France's instituions. Declared by all three Schools to be one of the finest Architects, Musicians, and Literary masters of this time. Why yes, as handsome as he was, he had a mind to match it all. His loving mother and father had spent his childhood adoring every structure he placed together from his blocks, supported his schooling fully and even hiring tutors besides the institution to further him in his studies. Both the Vicomte and Vicomntess Ange had spent lavish amounts of time, money.. and most of all love upon their only son. Both had also given him the beauty of the muses and the sirens, both in mind, soul, and face. Erik was, indeed, breathtaking. Inheriting his mother's deep golden eyes, and his father's raven black hair. But obtaining a grin all his own to grace his porcelain smooth flesh. Indeed, being a bachelor at the age he was dangereous, risking and living in danger of every eligible female (and sometimes non-eligible females) at every party, ball, any social gathering you could possibly think of. However, his heart simply was not present. His mind wandered often to his studies or latest investment as soon as any maiden approached or was introduced to him. His friends and acquaintances had simply given up hope on the man by the passing of his 25th birthday. He also shared this ideal, until he laid eyes on that little ballerina. The childish figure that had slowly, and sadly followed the other girls that day in the streets when Erik had noticed them at his meeting. Something had stirred in his heart when he had seen her for the first time.

Suddenly he felt something very warm against his lips, a little surprised at the situation, he completely withdrew himself from his day dream reminiscence, so he could realize what exactly was happening.

Christine had closed the distance between them. The heat of her voice and her body had not been enough to draw him from his musings. So to remedy the situation, she simply had stood on her toes and reached up for a kiss.

Like any innocent girl and any first kiss, it was a simple peck on the lips from which she quickly withdrew and stood back. Her eyes reflecting a deeper, unquestionable emotion as she backed away nervously.

"Erik.. I also lead you up here to tell you that even though you have brought me to this success as the lead singer of this opera. That you have made my life so much better and .." her eyes were bright and shining with admiration and adoration.

He winced.

"I want nothing more than to let you know.."

Pain wracked his body as the reality of the cold atmosphere of reality began to come over his limbs..

"That.." her delicately gloved hand reaching up and sliding down his smooth left cheek, sending a very chill down his spine.

"God no." a horribly ragged voice erupted from a parched throat.. he recognized later as his own ringing out into the rain.

".. I love you.." her face then tilting to his as their lips eagerly reached to touch.

The cold rains continued to fall upon his flesh as the beautiful night sky decorated with bright and beautiful pin points of light, faded into the dreary grey clouds filled with rain. The hurried crowds he had earlier envisioned were dissipating and fading before his eyes. However, as he gripped the roughly carved granite of the structure, the most important vision of his elaborate creation began to fade. That beautifully curved face, sparkling blue eyes, and sweet lips parted to meet his own.

The vision then completely shattered and Erik was then tossed cruelly back into his reality.

Slamming his fists down upon the rock he ground his flesh into the structure, refusing to leave the fantasy he had spent hours on that rooftop creating. Remaining completely still for hours in that torrent had erased his memories in it's fullest. From the silence of the storm he heard an unearthly sound of agonized screams. However this sound, he noticed, was coming from his own throat. A wrenching cry of despair and agony ripped from his frame and escaped into the sky and as if hearing his plea, rain began to fall in a more violent nature. Completely bombarding every structure under it's wrath, including a lone man atop a ruined structure, blood seeping from his self inflicted wounds down the sides of the stone he gripped with emotional pain.

Standing in the bitter cold and accepting the raindrops that fell and felt like nothing less than shards of glass, he slowly brought the bitter scream to an end. Releasing his grip on he stone and pulling his haggard frame away from the edge, he turned to leave. Having only been dressed in his dress shirt and slacks, he was in no way prepared for the elements he had inflicted on himself by standing in the rain and cold for so long.

"Not like it really matters.." he murmured to himself as he slowly trudged to the door.

Suddenly he pitched forward, his foot having caught an edge of the stone, and despite his grace and strength, he could not recover before he fell. Landing completely on his face, he grunted in pain and laid there as the water continued to fall in larger drops about him. In a painful effort he forced one of his arms out from underneath him, the blood still seeping from his palms, and attempted to pull himself up. A searing agony from his raw palm stopped him from continuing the endeavor. Forcing him to lay still in the rainfall.

This was simply too much, the pain was unbearable from both his heart and body. Ever since she left, ever since the end of the Opera Populaire and the destruction of his home from the mob.. there was simply nothing left to live for. He was defeated, God had not left out his last and final blow of humiliation as he lay in a puddle of his own blood mixed with the rain falling.

His entire frame began to shake. At first he thought that his body had finally given into the cold and he was dying of hypothermia. Giving into shock, something to give into mortality! However, it was not so, as he recognized the warm liquid trailing down his cheeks. Tears. He was sobbing, his entire body convulsing in the agonized pain that held both body and mind.

"God! You wretched bastard!" he let rip from his throat. "I'm defeated! The demon lies with nothing more than to return to the very hell he created!" sobs breaking the words apart, but he continued to cry out into the stormy skies.

"You took the few things that mattered the most from me! I created some of the most beautiful creations this world has ever seen in music and buildings! You gave me so much to create! Why not to enjoy? Why couldn't I have had the few things I wanted! WHY!" His voice finally gave out, breaking the smooth tones and the cracked tones of violence. He did not stop his blasphemous cry to the heavens. With immaculate strength he sprang to his feet and shook his fist at the skies, wording with a silent cry.

A mother's love, embrace.

A beautiful woman to desire, love and love me also.

… a face that could remain in light..

With that finally said, a crack of thunder filled the sky. Louder than any he had ever heard, and at this vantage on the rooftop more then he had ever endured. With his defeated cry to the creator and no other purpose to life, he simply collapsed and awaited the angel of death to come. He smiled to himself thinking, "If I cannot be the Angel of Music, if my own Angel leaves and betrays me, then I can always count upon the winged Death to collect my evil soul".

As the storm continued on in it's intensity, the golden orbs slid close for the last time.

_There is a circle of hell that Dante unfortunately left out. It's meant for cliff-hanger writers that do well in their art of suspense, and are too busy to update every day. But I hope to obtain salvation from this circle, no worries! I'll update as often as I possibly can! Promise!_


	2. Forgotten Angel

_Author's note: Here's where it gets a tad bit more interesting. Anyone that has not read Leroux's version of Phantom or has just seen the movie, you might want to go check that out right now. Because this might become a tad bit confusing. For those that have read the book, place some confidence people, remember I'm going from most of the movie and adding elements from the book itself. So MLEH!_

_Music for the chapter: Beethoven's 6th Symphony: Movement V Allegro_

Chapter 2: Forgotten Angel

Erik's body was simply laying there, having only passed out moments before. A cloaked figure hiding behind one of the larger pieces of statuary emerged. Quickly making it's way over to Erik, the individual tested his pulse and checked the overall condition of the person sprawled before him.

Through the silk material of the shirt it was apparent to the individual that Erik had not eaten for a long time. Each rib was pronounced and protruding, and all of his limbs showed signs of muscle atrophy. Erik's face was now visible, his fall having broken his porcelain mask into a thousand pieces and even cutting into his disfigured cheek. That wound bleeding profusely which only added to the crimson puddle developing around the fallen man. Even his disfigured face showed that his cheeks were hollow and his eyes sunken in from extreme starvation and malnutrition.

A crack of thunder and a quick flash of light alerted the figure from studying Erik. "It's dangerous to remain here", thinking quickly the mysterious figure picked up the limp man and easily tossed him over his shoulder. The broad shoulders easily accommodating Erik's now small frame. Erik emitted a soft groan as the figure moved to the door to enter the Opera.

"Yes, this is painful I know," The figure continued to speak as it kicked in the door to the Opera and swiftly made his way through. "This is what happens when one mistreats the gift that is our earth bound enclosure. Long ago, I once taught you this. Though as stubborn and feisty as you are, you never seemed to learn the lesson. Amongst other one's as well" a smirk played across the figure's lips as he shook his head at the small joke.

Carefully walking down the spiral staircase and through the hallways of the ruined opera, the figure continued to hold to Erik tightly. The boards groaned under the weight of the two and the holes amongst the roof gave way to puddles forming along the planks. However the figure moved with an unnatural grace and glided carefully down to the stage.

Upon reaching the stage, the figure stopped dead in his tracks. A curse emitted from his mouth in a foreign tongue as he noticed that from the orchestra pit and the steps from the stage, the wood and structure had failed and rotted away from months of disrepair. Stepping back and taking in his surroundings, he concentrated on a way to alleviate this obstacle. As he stared about, he let out a bit of a gasp at the destruction. He could tell that the building was once incredibly beautiful, probably just as amazing as some of the structures of his own homeland.

Gilded statues of angels and demons amongst Goddesses and strong figures decorated the many boxes, and the ornate styling of the Baroque period with a Persian twist filled the gigantic room. The once beautiful gold leaf that graced it all, was burned away in a grotesque distortion of it's once former glory. Flaking and rotting were all the figures, along with the delicate designs of paint that had once graced the arching walls that ran in sequence to the dome. Where, of course, the masterpiece and center to draw the eye had once hung. That of course was the largest and most disturbing part of the entire sight. The fallen chandelier lay in the very position it had fallen to on the dreadful night, crushing at least seven rows of seats that were once the very best position to view the stage. Glass shards lay about everywhere, even impaling some of the seats near by. Shaking his head, the figure regripped the limp figure over his shoulder.

"You were never able to leave without a grand finale.. were you?" he murmured.

Wrenching his eyes away from the sight, he concentrated harder on the task at hand. He then realized that he did not have much time; Erik was already warming under his touch from a deadly fever.

The distance from the edge of the stage where he stood to the ruined aisles was farther than he could jump on his own, let alone with the extra weight and the imbalance the situation presented. Walking back and forth along the stage, he realized that all of the rotting had completely ruined any chance of being able to make the jump even to the spots where the wood stretched. The chances of him jumping and landing on the wood closer to the stage were slim, let alone the fact that they showed signs of severe rot from the holes in the ceiling above it. Any chance of him landing there sturdily were completely thrown out the window by the reality that they would fall the twenty feet below into the orchestra pit.

Grunting with irritation of the set back, the figure finally resolved to placing Erik down upon the stage for a moment and retracing his steps back across the stage. Erik began to groan in pain as he rolled over, his eyes fluttering open slightly.

"One moment my friend.. although you won't remember this later, I'm quite sure I'll be more then happy to elaborate."

Erik's eyes could not adjust to the situation, and his vision was completely blurred with feverish pain. His hands were still stinging and his usually sharp awareness was non-existent as he gave into the fever. Erik knew that he was no longer on the rooftop, although he had no idea how he had moved. A voice kept ringing out into his ears, he caught a few words every now and then, including his own name being called. Confused and faintly apprehensive, he struggled to get up to fend from any attack. "Perhaps a mob member has returned to finish the job. Or maybe even a thief.." Erik's thoughts were interrupted sharply as a large figure moved rapidly towards him.

The dark object seemed to not be showing any signs of slowing down. At first two large wings and a pair of arms seemed to be reaching out. Erik gasped and drew back.

"Perhaps this is Death come to collect my soul for my sins".

Grinning, Erik leaned back and would have reached out his arms happily accepting his fate, if it had not been for the fact that the angel did not seem to slow down as it approached. In fact, the angel became more grotesque and deformed as it approached. It's wings took on a much more different shape, and it's arms seemed to sharpen and lengthen. The most frightening part of the ordeal was the way it screeched upon it's rapid approach.

Faintly startled and unable to see the creature as it approached, Erik forced himself to roll to his side to gain a better view of the creature. His maneuver had been a lucky one, for the creature never slowed down, and rushed past him ramming into and through the stage lights, shattering them as the giant form tumbled forward into the pit below. The ordeal being far too much for Erik's feverish state, he collapsed once again onto his face.

Emerging from behind the catastrophe was the hooded figure, standing where the giant creature had just bounded past Erik. Being quite satisfied with himself for having found the obnoxiously large prop, the figure stood back to take in the view. The paper mache Elephant served well as a standing point to cross the perilous edge. Staring over the side, he realized the method was by far much more ingenious as he had originally thought. Not only did the elephant's obnoxious mass fill the part of the pit, it was also most conveniently located directly across from the aisle. The handles designed for an inept human being to climb it's relatively low backside also served well as footholds instead of a slippery painted surface. As the figure stood there, he also noticed that he had neglected Erik's position. The limp body might as well be underneath the elephant's mass, crushed below in the pit. Wincing, the figure looked about quickly, and found to his great luck that somehow Erik's body had dodged the prop and was flung nearly fifteen feet away. Thanking an invisible figure above in the strange tongue, he quickly moved over to the body. Then, once again, tossed Erik easily over his shoulder and preceded on his way. Crossing with little effort to the aisle and maneuvering his way out of the opera house and out into the storm.

Reaching the final doors the figure kicking them open, busting the boards and nails that closed them tightly. The figure then realized that Erik was already burning up with a fever and that he would not survive the trip if he ran home in this current storm.  
Sighing, he reached for his own pouch. Hailing for a cab, a carriage near by stopped and the driver leaned down to observe his customers. Greeting his curious eyes was one of the strangest sights he had ever seen. A man in a dark, yet exotic cloak with another man draped lazily across his shoulders. The Driver's eyes must have shown a flicker of fear because the figure then approached and held a powerful fist in his direction. The driver nearly fell from his perch. The horses began to show a nervous nature as they felt the stranger approach. However, the fist relaxed and a note fell into the driver's hands.

".. To.. There.. pul..ease" the stranger stuttered in a thick accent. The free arm pointing to the west direction out of the square towards the train station.

Pulling the note to his face, the driver noticed it was foreign and rather colorful. "Sorry, but I only accept francs Monsieur."

Even though the figure barely understood the man's words, he knew that the money was no good in this odd European country. Leaning Erik's body further down he searched lightly along his back and found that luck was with him. Stuffed in Erik's pocket was a small pouch with several notes placed systematically. Assuming the larger symbols meant the larger note, he simply grabbed one and tossed it at the driver. The driver quickly snatched the note before it fell and read it, his eyes then widened. Sitting there in shock for a moment the driver simply gaped at the note. Taking this for a large bill, the figure coughed lightly in impatience.

"Oh! Yes. Pardon me Monsieur!" clambering from his perch, the driver clumsily opened the door for the both of them.

Shrugging, the figure assumed that the bill was indeed most likely larger then the fare for the cab would ever be. Giving into his ignorance, he graciously accepted the overpaid cover and transportation, carrying Erik in with him. Then sitting on the worn velvet coushins and placing Erik carefully on the adjacent seat. Smiling lightly, the figure sat back as the cab driver closed the door. The drive then quickly hopped on top, whipping the horses strongly and urging the carriage forward in the storm. Silently, the figure placed a foot upon the edge of the other seat to prevent Erik from slipping off from the bumpy ride. He then absent-mindedly pulled the hood down from his cape.

The stranger's features were softly curved with a sharp edge to the cheeks and nose, skin color more of a darker beige, and dark raven hair cut short about his scalp. His appearance was not distinctly native to France at all; in fact he was native to Persia. Aged and tired, but still strong in nature, he simply sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride.

Erik stirred again at one of the rougher bumps in the road. Moaning lightly his bloodshot eyes opened. The light was incredibly painful and seemed to stab through his eyes as Erik attempted to adjust them to his new environment His eyes scanned the inner cabin of the cab, stopping abruptly as he stared at the figure across from him.

".. Nadir?" he croaked..

Smiling, the Persian simply nodded.

Erik couldn't stand the shock and simply fell unconscious.


	3. Where Am I?

Author's note: Well now, wasn't that interesting. Please do continue onward. I promise it becomes far more complex as I would like to reach into the depths of the mind of my interpretation of a man this far into obsession and depression. And his good friend willing to stop at nothing to gain him back from the brink of hell.

Music for Chapter: Casper's Lullaby by James Horner

Chapter 3: Where am I?

Flashes of silk and bright lights were blurred in a hideous fashion before his eyes. Her deep blue eyes staring up at him in great admiration and love,  
then in less then a second's timing fading into Erik's heart with deep agony and wrenching pain.

"Why?" her voice rang out clearly throughout his head.

".. Christine?" he instantly recognized his angel's voice, and could now see himself clearly standing in the middle of a dark expanse.

"No! Answer me!" her pain drenched sobs began, echoing all around him.

Suddenly as her sobs had come, they silenced abruptly and he was left alone to stand in the complete dark. Only a single light from an unknown source shined above him, highlighting every single detail of his figure from the shined shoes, dark slacks, simple dress shirt and cape. But most of all,  
his hideous features were not hidden in this darkness. The light revealed every detail of his rotting left cheek, every crevice of deformed flesh that clung desperately to his skeletal face. His drooping eye blood shot and dried from exposure to the atmosphere, stared desperately out into the darkness searching for her.

"Christine! What! Where have you gone?" he began to run, run into the darkness. However far he ran the light rested entirely on himself and never left him for a second. The harder he ran the louder his voice ran throughout the environment.  
"Please don't go! Don't cry! I will give you anything!".

His voice ran haggard as his cries became more coarse with use.  
His legs carried him in every direction, in what seemed for miles, and yet he never found a single other object other than the darkness surrounding him. Finally his legs gave out from underneath him and he fell pitifully to his face. Sobbing into the ground he began to pound his fists, "I would have given you anything.. anything. I will give you anything! Please, just come back." The silence completely enveloped him, the light still burned down upon his figure, ever judging and never moving for a second. His sobs rang out as he continued. "Why couldn't you just love me.. please.."

Suddenly there was a brilliant light in the distance that slowly began to envelope the darkness. The edges of the brilliant contrast almost seemed to consume every inch of it's counterpart as it moved rapidly towards him. For some reason it frightened him, this drastic change. Within him a terror began to rise, and his body automatically pulled itself from the sobs and he rose to run in the opposite direction of the oncoming force of light.  
The light was on his heels, quickly approaching, and it's ever-growing consumption brought a noise. A high pitched shrill that ran throughout his ears and wracked his brain with a massive amount of pain.  
Suddenly a stab of pain ripped down the left side of his cheek, tearing through his already distorted flesh and knocking him to the ground as the light burned straight through his figure.

Screaming, he sat straight up in the bed he had been laid carefully in. His eyes opened painfully to the realization that the light was real. It burned deeply into his eyes as they attempted to adjust to it. It seared through his brain like a hot poker. He lifted his arms as an attempt to cover his eyes, and block the light out,  
his pitiful screams still filling the cabin. A strong pair of hands however gripped him tightly and held him to the mattress, forcing his shaking body to the bed.

"Erik!" a sharp tone rang throughout the cabin and stopped Erik's struggles.  
"Lay still, you are going to hurt yourself.. again." the voice argued softly as Erik began to relax under the grip which was considerably stronger than his own. He recognized the words, they were not spoken in French but Latin with an eastern accent. The individual had gripped his wrists firmly and placed both arms down at his sides. Erik's eyes began to adjust to the light as his eyes fell on the deeper brown one's staring down at him.

"So it wasn't a dream" Erik replied in Latin, "Nadir?"

"Yes, it's me." satisfied that Erik was calmed from his dream, the Persian sat back cautiously and looked over his friend with a worried look in his eye. "It's been a while" he smiled lightly down on his friend's face.

"My God, I could have sworn you were ..."

"Dead?" the Persian smirked and sat back more relaxed. "Yes, well after I helped you escape I was indeed condemned to be executed."

Sighing deeply in relief for both his friend and the fortune of being in his company and not anyone else, he relaxed on the bed. "Where are we?" the memories of the past few months began to intercede on the moment and Erik's face began to twist in pain.

Nadir smiled and set his feet upon the bed stand, his eyes never leaving Erik's bandaged face,. "We are upon the Asclepius ".

"Asclepius?" Erik replied with a bit of surprise.

"That is correct, the merchant ship."

A twist of anger flashed across Erik's exposed face as he realized that this was indeed true. The soft movement of the ship back and forth upon the waves were now rocking his own body lightly in the bed.

As he sat there the memories came back in ful; the opera, Christine, having collapsed on the roof and wanting to simply die, letting go of this world. But now he was here with a friend he had believed dead years ago that was alive and breathing. He too, was alive and breathing, but why! Erik had simply wanted to die!

"What am I doing here!" Erik yelled, sitting up roughly. The pain shot up his hands and Erik fell back with a sharp gasp. Erik's eyes opened wide at the sensation, and he then took the moment to observe his own body.

His hands were bound with crisp white linen bandages, his knees were bound as well. A wet cloth had been placed on his forehead and slid to his bare chest. Erik's thoughts reared about as he reached to his face, realizing his mask was gone. "Where is my mask!" his hands desperately feeling the deformed side of his face. Erik's fingers trailed over a large bandage that had been fashioned to shape the entire left side of his face, including the eyehole. He then carefully felt each edge of the large bandage and realized it also extended back across his ear. Erik's voice was shaking, and filled with rage. He pulled back like a frightened animal, settling on the other end of the bed, across the disheveled sheets.

Nadir had not moved from his position on the side of his bed, though his eyes shown with a kindness and curiosity in a passive light. "You are here because I brought you here. Your mask on the other hand, is not here. You actually fell upon it when you collapsed on the roof of that building. That is why you have a bandaged face now and that is why you have only now, awakened."

Erik's senses now came in a full rush of pain. His hands ached horribly,  
but lacked the stinging sensation that had been present when he ground the flesh into the granite. His knees were stiff from lack of movement. His face stabbed with agony every time he moved any muscles. Moaning in pain, Erik turned and curled into a fetal position on his side, his back to Nadir. Gulping in a breath of deep air, he laid there concentrating on simply breathing. A cold damp cloth was placed on Erik's forehead. The bed sunk under the weight of Nadir as he leaned over him. Erik however snapped the cloth out of his hand and threw it across the cabin.

"You shouldn't have helped me. You should have allowed me to die. It was what I wanted." he whispered haggardly with sharp edge of emotional pain to his voice.

"What you want and what you need have been indeed completely turned around from what I have heard.." Nadir replied softly as he produced another cloth from the basin beside the bed and continued to dab Erik's forehead.

Erik on the other hand snapped back and sat up violently, searing hatred dripping from his eyes as he stared Nadir down. "How do you know anything of what I've been through? How can you say these things! You have been gone for years! I have no idea how you are even here and yet you dare say these things about my life! " Erik hissed.

Nadir stood and casually crossed his arms across his chest. "I will be more then happy to explain everything to you if you would refrain from jumping up and screaming after every other word out of my mouth." he stated in a very calm tone with a humble approach as he stared up at Erik. "Especially after the last fortnight. Your condition was terrible! You could, at least, lay down long enough for me to make some tea. Some form of food to fill that angry belly of yours."

Erik snarled at him, but didn't move. His shoulders arched and his contorted mouth twisted into a growl. For the expanse of two minutes they simply stared each other down, Nadir's brown eyes shining in kindness with a hint of impatience, and Erik's in pure animosity.

"I wanted to die, don't you understand that?" Erik finally spat out.

"I know." Nadir simply stated.

"Why did you not leave me? Why not give me PEACE!" Erik then lunged at Nadir and attempted to wrap his bandaged hands about his throat. However, his knees gave way under his weight from months of atrophy. Erik's attempt to swiftly get to his feet failed miserably as he became entangeled into the sheets and fell flat on his face. His outreached fingers blindly reaching for Nadir's throat had managed to grasp the very front of his shirt. The extent of damage that Erik inflicted was comparable to a kitten lunging at an elephant. Nadir swiftly reached down and gripped his wrists firmly.

"Sometimes what we want is not entirely what we need.." Nadir whispered as he gently released Erik's wrists and promptly walked out of the cabin. The soft sound of a key turning in a lock was all that Erik was left with. 

The silence of the cabin was shattered by the sobs of a heart broken man. 


	4. Unfinished American Woodwork

Author's note: This was my favorite chapter to type up so far, you can probably tell why as you go on further down. From the perspectives of a man that has traveled far based on heresay to rescue a friend in need. I think it a rather Romantic notion (the original sense mind you, slash fiction is not in my nature, if you were expecting that I'll be a sore disappointment of an author to you) that he would do such a thing.

Music for the Chapter: Bandenburg Concerto 4 by J.S. Bach

Chapter 4: Unfinished American Woodwork

As he quickly turned the intricate key through the hole and placed another lock atop that one soundlessly, Nadir could hear the sobs of his friend inside.

"Nothing less then the cries of a broken man" he thought as he pocketed the key and made his way to the deck.

Through the twisted passages he had created, through two trap doors, and finally through a sliding wall, Nadir emerged inside of his own room on the third deck below. It was lavishly decorated with large Persian rugs, including a beautiful siberian tiger fur. The entire room was spared no expense for it's owner's equisite tastes. Three mahogany chests were stacked in the corner adorned with carvings, intricate jungle scenes, and were filled with robes and garments from many nations. Most of the garments were of the Eastern styles. A large bed of Acacia wood dominated the center of the space. It was built to fit at least five people comfortably, and was also carved with exotic designs. These designs were cruder and held a Mediterranean style, much like a Greecian temple. 

Nadir grinned, the sight always pleased him, but not because of the sheer wealth. No, Nadir was proud of every single object he had collected from his travels across the world. Erik had not given him the chance to explain why he was still alive after their last encounte, and he most likely was not going to ask until he came out of his delusional world revolving around that girl.

"You have changed so much.." Nadir whispered audibly.

Pulling back the ebony chair he had snatched from Thebes, Nadir sat down at a large desk he had purchased in America only a few months ago. He remembered the exact moment so clearly. His mind then slipped back into the memory as his fingers trailed lightly along the lapis lazu inlay on his Egyptian throne.

He had just spent the last half hour haggling with the dealer. 

"Ninety Dollars!"

"A hunderd!"

"Ninety five American dollars.. not a cent more.." Nadir stated, staring deeply into the eyes of the craftsman across the table.

The elderly man was haggard from dealing with this foreign man. Though he was smaller then the Persian, despite a lifetime of hard work in the wood carving business, this man with the funny accent was still almost half a size larger. This desk had been one of the craftsman's personal favorites. He had spent a year intricately carving each individual leaflet into the legs and along the edge of this piece. His honed skills had not been spared. The craftsman took the design to be a more baroque feel, and the realistic nature of the carving looked like they could possibly fall away at a touch. And how haughty was this giant brut of a man, to walk in and demanded that specific desk even while he still worked on it. The desk was nearly large enough to be considered a large dining table for two!

"Fine! The table is yours! Just please leave my shop here quick, cause I've got other customers that won't take kindly to yer kind around here.." the craftsman stated and quickly collected his money. Nadir however was unwavered by his statement, and was not offended, as his experience in America had produced similar results.

While awaiting the piece to be completed. Nadir made his way over to one of the smaller taverns across the street. Walking quietly through the door had proven to be a useless task. His appearance had completely silenced any and all conversation that had once filled the establishment. Politely shutting the door behind himself, and walking to a table that was deserted seemed to be nothing less then a side show to a circus. Every single eye was on him, and the entire place seemed to be dead silent except for two gentlemen in the back that were chatting lively. Not wanting any more attention than was necessary, Nadir quickly moved over behind the two gentlemen's table and sat down to wait for the barmaid to come serve him. The activities of the bar slowly resumed, however the two men continued their conversation with little regard to Nadir.

"Why yes, just shot down in plain sight!" the first one stated in a taut British accent.

"By George, these Americans. First they demand to be separated from the crown. Then they fight over their own lands! Now they shoot their own chosen officials down in cold blood! Poor man, Garfield was his name, correct?" the other retorted in an accent just as thick.

"Yes Nigel, but you must remember that he actually would have had a chance of survival.." the second one stated. By now Nadir had taken note to their English accents as opposed to the rough Georgian accents that had bombarded his ears for the few weeks he had landed in America. 

"The bullet was lodged somewhere in his body, and unfortunately doctors believed it too close to his spine and would not search for the bullet in fear of killing the poor soul. However there is a brilliant inventor who has created this machine that detects metal. Edison I believe his name is.."

"Really now John, you must refrain from such silly things.." Nigel stated in a sneering tone.

"No! Really! I'm not sure how exactly it works. But anyway, back to the story.. "

A while had passed as he listened to the two Englishmen babble. Nadir had noticed he had not been served or approached and looked up to see that the barmaid was poking out from the kitchen. She seemed afraid of him as her eyes darted back and forth from him to back in the kitchen behind her. The owner of the bar, a large burley man that had been watching him carefully since he had walked in, grabbed the girl and heavily encouraged her with physical force to go to Nadir. The owner had probably assumed that Nadir was rich from his embroidered, foriegn clothing. The girl resisted the large man's orders and refused to go to his table, rushing back into the kitchen. Sighing heavily in annoyance, the owner himself had to approach Nadir. 

"Good afternoon sir, what can I get for yerself?"

"Whatever is available now, I'm in a bit of a hurry if you wouldn't mind."

"Of course sir, I'll get right back to ya" the tavern owner quickly walked away and disappeared into the back. Nadir assumed it was the kitchen where the maid had run away to only a few moments before.

"So you are meaning to tell me good sir, that the only reason that 'machine' didn't work is because the metal components of the bed springs on the mattress the doctor laid him out, blocked the detection of the bullet itself in his body? My goodness, was terrible luck!" a bit of laughter came from Nigel as he continued, "that is, if the story were really true."

"Good sir, are you accusing me of lying?" John mentioned lightly.

"Of course I am John! Nothing but fibs comes from those lips of yours, I hardly know what to believe. In fact, what were you telling me about that chandelier incident in Paris?"

"I never lie! They are all true, including that one especially!" John rose his voice defensively. "Remember that grand Chandelier in the Opera we attended in London? .. Oh, what was the name of that confounded theater.."

"The Royal Opera house.." Nigel replied, obviously a little tired of hearing his friend go on, but politely listening.

"Yes! That is it, such a beautiful theater. Such an excellent performance of Otello." he said in a reminiscing tone. "Oh! Pardon, anyway there was this small opera house in Paris where apparently in the middle of the performance the grand Chandelier, not much different from the one in the Royal Opera House, came crashing down!" John's voice seemed to strain from trying to prove his story.

"You cannot be serious John, if that chandelier were anywhere near the size of the one in the Royal Opera House, the cords to hold that up would be thicker than my own arm!" responding to his statement, Nigel raised his arm to prove the width. "That Chandelier weighs at least three quarters of a ton! No Opera would leave such an item to be so ridiculously neglected."

John's mouth rose in a smile, "you must remember we are speaking about the French.."

A snicker came from both the gentlemen.

"Alright, well even if we are speaking of our eternal rivals, no one in their right minds would leave such an item to neglect and rot. French, or not. In fact, is that opera house even old enough for the cords to have possibly rotted or decayed?" Nigel inquired.

"Well, no, the article I had read stated the theater was only three years old. Supposedly one of the finest pieces of architecture at this very moment in France. Many sought after it's architect and creator after it was finished, but apparently the genius disappeared." John almost whispered, making it harder for Nadir to hear.

"Disappeared? Why on earth would you create a beautiful and successful building, and then just drop everything? You would leave other job opportunities behind with such a foolhardy move!" Nigel blared.

"Ow, not so loud. I'm not sure. But yes, the Chandelier fell, killed several people and their Primadonna was also kidnapped that night. They assumed it was actually someone that had been harassing the theater for all three years it had been in production."

"Harassing a theater? Who on earth would want to do that? I know the women are lose in the theater industry, maybe even more so because they are in France." Nigel commented softly.

Once again, both men stop to snicker.

John leaned over even further to his friend, by this time Nadir was interested enough that he too leaned physically in his chair to overhear the last part.

"You see, they would call him 'The Phantom'. Apparently a ghost that haunts the theater. However, by the time this incident occurred and so many deaths were at hand, they searched and found that it was actually a man that lived under the theater!"

Nigel gasped, "no, you can't be serious."

John smiled "Oh, but I am."

"Now why would a man hide under a theater? Wouldn't it have been terribly cold? What sort of man would do this to himself?" Nigel seemed now enthralled with the story.

John leaned back a little, "some said he wasn't even a man. He was actually a monster. A creature they say that hid from the world of light because he could not stand it."

Nigel sneered, "What kind of proof had they of this?".

Bringing his chair back up to the table he leaned over again to his friend and plainly stated. "What kind of man would hide from the light, under an opera house, terrorize it's actors, and wear a mask to cover half of his face?"

Nadir's eyes completely widened as he dropped his fork audibly.

Nigel leaned over equally and stared his friend straight in the eye. "You are right, you know."

"Really? You believe me?" John said with eager eyes.

"Yes" replied Nigel, "this is no man that could have possibly done these things."

"I knew you would come about to my thinking!" John beamed, "what do you think it was? A monster?".

"Well, no" Nigel replied as he leaned over further towards his friend, "something even worse."

John stared at him with apprehensive eyes, "what could possibly be worse?"

"A FRENCHMAN!" Nigel boomed. Both gentlemen at that point, burst out laughing and continued to finger at their food.

Nadir on the other hand took no heed as he abruptly tossed a note on the table and left. Brushing past the tavern keeper as he was walking out with a plate filled with food. Placing the plate down on the table, the owner simply stared out at Nadir in a rage.

"Come to eat and then not even pay for my grub! I'll be certain he'll never eat here again.. in fact" the burley man then rolled up his sleeves and was on his way out the door to pummel the man before his maid stopped him.

"Willy, stop making a fool of yerself! Look!" the maid then shoved a large bill underneath his nose. "We didn't even have to waste the grits ya know! So stop your blubbering and help me get these dishes back." She then proceeded to the other tables that had emptied earlier because of the foreign and unwelcome presence of the Persian. Willy however stuck his dirty finger directly into the grits and promptly stuck the finger back into his mouth. "Mmm, not that bad of a batch today." he smiled as he pocketed the discarded bill for the uneaten meal and continued on his way.

Nadir on the other hand had heard enough and had completely lost his appetite. Even now as he pulled out of the memory and came to his senses in the reality he was in now, he still remembered the shock. Wandering the streets of Atlanta, barely dodging the traffic. Thinking of his old friend in such a terrible state. He had promptly come to his senses after a Horse nearly trampled him, and quickly made his way back to the shop to collect his desk. The craftsman had protested and demanded nearly double the price for not being able to finish his masterpiece. But at this point Nadir had not cared for money at all. He knew exactly what he had to do. 

After settling the deal he quickly made his way back to his merchant ship and gave instructions to his crew on board that they were to leave as soon as possible. All preparations were to be done that night and through the next morning. They were to set sail as soon as possible with no regards to anything else. And sure enough, later that morning as the sun was rising, Nadir had been standing on the bow of the ship staring out at the sunrise as his ship proceeded on it's journey to Paris.

These thoughts quickly passed from Nadir's mind as he felt the unfinished surface of his desk. Shrugging himself out of the daydream, he began walking to the galley. His thoughts, however, followed him as he went.

It was true, Erik had been that man terrorizing the small Opera. He indeed was the man that had designed it. He was also the man behind all of the terrible events that Nadir had read about after overhearing that conversation. What happened to him? Though they had parted ways only seven years earlier, what could have possibly changed that man to do such horrible things? Had Erik indeed become a monster?.. Would there be anything that could possibly save him..

Nadir physically reached and brushed his shoulder to indicate to his mind that enough thinking had been done. There was a task at hand, and the mind was not to interfere with it's importance at this moment.

For the reader I must note here, all the events that I have written here that have historical signifigance actually did happen. I will continue research and picking up these little tidbits back and forth. You will soon find that I have quite the interest in the 1880's. 


	5. Gifts Come in Many Forms

_Author's Note: Ahh.. I'm sleepy. Five chapters straight and it leads to.. PLOP. Bah, I need some thinkin' time in Pooh corner or something._

_**wanders off in a Pooh Bear costume thumping her forehead**_

_Think.. Think.._

_ Review this please, let me know what you think so far.  
_

_Music for chapter: Happy Ending by Avril Lavigne_

Chapter 5: Gifts come in many forms

Something very hairy and stiff landed on Erik's outstretched fingers.  
Although he gave it no heed while his sobs still wracked his frame, it  
continued to be lifted and dropped repeatedly on his fingertips. It wasn't  
until something faintly sharp nipped the end of his fingertips that  
he looked sharply up, pulling himself up into a defensive position in a  
flash.

Two large green eyes stared back at him with a shine of wonderment and worry   
behind the carcass held firmly in it's mouth. Erik pulled back and let his  
eyes adjust to the light in the small cabin and realized that his hands were  
covered with blood. He pulled back and checked himself over to make sure  
there were no open wounds, he then found none. The cat on the end of the bed was   
however growing impatient and waddled cautiously over to him and dropped the  
rat at his knees. Letting out a soft meow, it sat back on  
it's haunches and watched him carefully as it did so.

The rat was roughly the width of a man's thigh and the length of a man's  
forearm, and smelled of rot. It's blood continued to seep from the tear in  
it's gut. Such sights would have been normal to Erik from so many years  
underneath the opera house and seeing a rat of this size wasn't particularly   
common. However, in the fragile state Erik was in, he was not feeling particularly gracious. He sharply tossed the carcass off the bed with a flick of his wrist, and turned his back to the feline.

As he did so, he heard a hiss. Erik then felt an incredibly sharp pain along his  
shoulders. Screaming out in pain, he reached around to find that his  
hands had fresh blood upon them this time, this time this blood was his own.

Swirling around to catch the cat, he managed to swat one of  
it's legs as it jumped off the edge of the bed to retrieve the carcass.  
Cursing under his breath, Erik jumped off the bed and almost caught the  
feline, however his body was curiously weak. His usual responses and  
swift reflexes were completely thrown off, leaving him staggering and as  
graceful as a drunken elephant. Shaking his head, he attempted to recover and  
corner the feline.

"Beast.. how dare you strike me.." Erik said in a searing whisper as he  
closed in on the animal.  
The cat looked incredibly apprehensive and angry as it continued to back   
itself into the corner. It's ears were pulled back, fur on end, and back  
arched to appear larger and more of an opponent to match Erik's looming threat. Having already dropped the rat, the cat was preparing itself for an attack. Erik was about three  
feet away, the anger resonating in his amber eyes, as he slowly closed in the  
space step by step.

"I never would have imagined a man of your magnitude reduced yourself to taking  
revenge upon a feline." A familiar voice rang out behind Erik.

The sudden noise completely distracted Erik, he turned to respond. The cat  
took full advantage of the turn of events and struck out, slashing Erik  
across his good cheek.

"AHH! God!" Erik cried as he fell to his knees, holding his bandaged hand to  
his cheek. The cat quickly made it's way out of the corner and behind the  
legs of the intruder.

Erik lay in his position, on all fours with one cheek held with his  
hand, blood dripping from between his fingers. He shook with the pain that  
coursed through his cheek, however remained completely silent. His golden  
eyes looking through his clutched fingers over at the beast between Nadir's  
legs. The feline was looking out from it's fleshy fortress, apprehensively at Erik and hissing. His ember eyes flashed  
with unimaginable hatred as Erik slowly reached out to the bed and pulled  
himself up.

Nadir simply stood back watching him. Within his hands he held a silver tray  
with several different containers. His tall figure patiently remained in the  
same position, the feline interweaving amongst his legs in a purring  
euphoria, occasionally looking up at Erik and hissing.

Placing the tray to the side, Nadir finally broke the silence and offered  
his hand to the fallen man. Erik quietly took it in appreciation and  
struggled to a standing position. His other hand still holding his bleeding  
cheek and his eyes still burning with anger as he reached over and sat on   
the bed.

Nadir walked silently to the other side of the room to a plain dresser and  
retrieved some clean linen from one of the drawers and placed them on top.  
Along the surface of the dresser was a porcelain water basin and pitcher, from which he   
poured some clean water upon the linen and soaked it through. His back to  
Erik, he noticed the rat carcass on the floor as the cat moved to retrieve  
the precious prize. As the cat graciously fed on it's feast, Nadir finished soaking the bandages and made  
his way over to Erik.

"Please remove your hand, and your shirt."

Erik voicelessly complied and did as he was told. Cursing aloud as the  
fabric was removed from the scratch. However, he kept his hand to his cheek  
as the Persian moved over to him and touched the wet cloth to his flesh wound  
draped down his shoulder. A new wave of pain washed over Erik as the water  
was pressed against the newest tear amongst other scars lining his back.  
He remained silent despite the pain, his eyes remained riveted upon  
the cat blissfully eating at his prize.

Nadir stared across the back of his friend. The criss-crossed scars were  
even worse then he remembered. Some as thick as his thumb and others so  
small they could have been mistaken for a white hair. The only other man  
that he had witnessed having such cruel reminders of punishment was a man that had  
stolen from the street markets of his homeland. A loaf of bread had earned  
him a lifetime in prison, with daily lashings. Erik however, was simply  
born with a face that had earned him cruelty beyond almost anyone's   
understanding.

"I see that Shiva brought you a gift." Nadir commented on lightly.

"A gift?.. That ROTTING corpse is a gift!." Erik spat.

"I also see that you rejected it, and received another gift.. or two."

"I am no mood for your jesting Nadir, please tell me how badly I'm injured  
and allow me to clean the wounds myself." Erik moved to take the washcloth,  
and Nadir sharply pulled it away.

"That rat happens to be quite the prize in her eyes, and your rejection of   
what is most valuable to her has created great pain in her heart. So she  
shared that pain with you as well." Nadir noted. "You might also want to  
take care not to hurt her feelings any further. A cat capable of catching a  
rat of that size, and is also known to claw through sails like a baby, would   
through tissue, is quite capable of scratching quite deeper than you  
assume."

Nadir continued to soft pressure of the cloth to his wounds.  
"Though this feels deep, she actually only scratched you slightly. She has  
become quite the master of inflicting wounds, a genius at her art if you please." Nadir had finished with his shoulder and moved to touch his cheek. Erik turned sharply away from him and sat defensively.

"Please allow me to see your cheek," he said sharply as more of a statement then a request. Nadir's hand reached up, and  
Erik quickly slapped it away. Nadir however, was not amused and quickly  
grabbed Erik's wrist and held it away. "This scratch is not nearly as  
superficial.. She apparently felt incredibly threatened when she created  
this one."

The flesh wound extended from the side of his ear and down his jaw line. The  
wound was deep, but only enough so that it would leave a hairline scar.  
Erik on the other hand hissed in pain when it was touched. "God.. has  
cursed my other cheek" Erik sighed in pain with a heavy coat of cynicism.

"On the contrary, it will only leave a small scar", noted Nadir as he  
cleaned the wound and rested the bandage on the cheek. Nadir then pulled Erik's own  
hand up to hold the cloth stationary. He then took a seat in a small chair  
across from the bed and watched Erik calmly. "I have brought you food, you  
haven't eaten in quite a long time." the Persian then indicated to the tray  
he left on the far side of the bed.

It was at the mention of food that Erik noticed how horribly hungry he  
really was. His stomach twisted in agony upon smelling the steam rising  
from the various dishes upon the tray. Without his mental consent, his hands  
automatically reached and pulled the tray to his lap. Gingerly fingering  
the various utensils he removed the lids from each container and ate rapidly. Not really even stopping to taste, but simply consume. There  
were many exotic dishes; some that Erik knew from European styles to  
some similar to Persian cuisine, even some Erik never thought could exist delighted his taste buds for as long as he would allow them to savor the flavor.

Nadir remained still, watching Erik before a soft tuft of fur brushed past  
his fingers. Realizing that Shiva was still present and apparently done  
with her meal, he walked to the door and promptly opened it far enough for  
the cat to escape.

"How can you help that creature after what it did to me?" Erik had finished  
and was watching Nadir release the cat. Nadir smiled and walked calmly back  
to the chair, "the cat has done nothing to me to merit that  
I should harm it. You hurt her as badly as she hurt you".

"How? I never touched her." Erik snapped back, placing the tray to the side  
and replacing the cloth to his face. "She has marred the only part of my  
face that I almost considered worthy of this world, and then she runs to  
someone I would assume would know exactly what to do with such wild  
creatures."

"And what would that be Erik?" Nadir stated calmly.

"Well. Kill her." Erik stated flatly with no emotion.

"Kill the animal? After she watched you toil in fever and agony for three  
weeks? Tossing and turning, you remained in pain, and she slept by your  
side almost every single night. I tried to remove her, locked her out so  
many times I couldn't count. She, however, somehow found her own secret  
passageway into the room and refused to leave your side." Nadir stated in a   
slightly elevated voice, "Upon seeing you awake she recognized you hadn't  
eaten, so what does she do? Searches out the entire ship for the largest  
and most prized piece of food she can find, and promptly delivers it upon  
hearing your heartfelt sobs. And what do you do?.. Toss it, disregard her   
efforts and her love because it didn't come in the form you wanted. That  
all of her efforts and love were not enough for what you expected. Is this  
the man you've become Erik? A man no more shallow than the wound on your  
face?"

Nadir's voice became stronger and stronger in Erik's mind, but in actuality   
his voice had never raised nor changed much tone. Erik's face grimaced in  
anger as his own voice rose. "My FACE has no place in this conversation and  
I wish for you to never speak of it again!"

"I spoke of what the cat has done to you.." Nadir sighed.

Silence reigned in the room as both sat in contemplation.

"I... I'm sorry Nadir." Erik sputtered as he leaned back upon the bed.

Nadir sighed and sat back more comfortably against his chair as he looked  
over his friend. It had been three weeks since he had brought him on board  
as he had noted. His 'walk' in the rain had caused his entire  
body to be consumed by one of the fiercest fevers Nadir had ever seen in  
his life. Each port they had stopped off at along Spain and Portugal, he  
had retrieved a doctor to administer as much as he could before they moved  
on. Each one had given the prognosis of death and suggested to giving up. But Nadir  
refused and continued forward. Now as they were barely leaving the ocean  
territories of Portugal and entering the Cape Verde Plain of the North  
Atlantic Ocean, Nadir knew that he had done the right thing in finding his  
friend.

"You have fresh clothing in that dresser behind me. If you feel you would  
like to get fresh air, please let me know by knocking three times on the  
wall behind your headboard. It is located directly beneath my own room and  
I will be able to hear it and come to get you." Nadir continued, "If there  
is anything you should need, I will come if you knock. If not, I am  
attending to the needs of the ship, and simply knock at the end of each  
hour."

"Why are you keeping me down here?" Erik sighed, thinking back to his  
captivity by the gypsies and twitching at the thought of his own friend  
keeping him from his freedom.

"Because my crew.."

"Ha.. They fear me.. Correct?" Erik snorted and sat back sharply against the  
plain headboard, making it thump the wall.

"No" Nadir continued, "Because they will frighten you."

His words struck Erik funny, his golden eyes searching Nadir's deep brown   
eyes for expression of mockery or jest. But there was none to be found. He  
was completely serious.

With that said, Nadir quickly gathered all of the dishes upon the silver  
tray, and left. Quietly locking the door behind himself.


	6. Pain of Past and Present

_Author's Note: whistles innocently Yeah, you guys are going to LOOOOOVE this chapter. Leave me a note and let me know what you think :)_

Chapter 6: Pain of Past and Present

Erik never knew what time it was. All he knew was the rocking of the boat. Back, forth, back.. and forth. He did know that Nadir would come despite his lack of 'knocking' as he was instructed to do. Every once in a while the Persian would enter after knocking, despite Erik never inviting him or responding to the gesture. Nadir would arrive with food and water, each meal was different and exotic yet simple. Erik, rarely ever thanked him for it and continued to dream of lying dead atop the opera house. His imagination soared to the possibilities of being released of this world. His mind was swiftly leaving him with each movement of the boat. Sometimes the boat would rock hard enough to actually move him physically from one position on the bed to an entirely different one. Other times the boat was so still, he could close his eyes and imagine still being in his home beneath the opera and listening to that sweet voice..

God, how with the boredom of his situation allowed thoughts of her to enter into his mind.

How much he loved her..

How much he completely hated her.

But most of all..

How much that damned Vicomte had the rights to what he deserved.

A faint hiss escaped his lips as he rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms about himself, settling in. His bulk and weight had rolled ontop of his bandaged hands, a faint sting stretched out from each finger tip to remind him of his injury.

Although it was not as sharp as it had been when he first had awakened on the dreaful boat, it still caused him discomfort. A flashback came to his eyes as he pulled his bandaged hands up to his face, the neatness of the linen contrasted against his earlier memory..

"Eww.. Mommy, that man's face looks like he's dead" a little girl passing the cage commented as she blatantly stared through the bars. Erik's golden eyes looked up passively from his hands that were covered in bloody and crusted make-shift bandages. The little girl was young, perhaps nine or ten. Her long blond curls bounced around her round face as she catiously moved closer to the enclosure.

"Monseuir, why do you live?"

Erik smiled softly before reaching to the edge of the cage to answer her. But before his crusted lips could part to give a reasonable answer, the little girl screeched in absolute terror and ran back to the safety of her mother's skirts.

He shrugged and sat back, it's not like that wasn't the first time he had received that response. As a matter of fact, the question she had innocently asked was one he wasn't too foreign of. The thoughts of suicide, ending this tourmented hell of remaining a rich man's pet and ultimate investment, were one that often saturated Erik's mind. What would it take? Nothing really if the damned gypsy had been stupid enough to leave a bit of rope or something to choke upon inside of the cage. But no, he left several guards surrounding his "prize exibit" all through the night and day to 'protect' it.

Every night he went through the same routine. The guards would close up the flaps to the tent, whip out the cubed pieces of ivory with numbers on their sides. Whomever would get the lowest numbers of the two pieces combined would be given the right of sleeping first and each number higher would warrant the subsequent shifts given out. Afterwards, if there was no fighting over the results, they would settle into a rather loud nightly chorus of singing and bickering. Sometimes throwing each other about the small tent, jarring Erik's cage and even knocking it over occasionally. Any protest from Erik from the disturbances of their drunken nights would earn him a beating. They would tear him out of his cage, tying his thin wrists to the edges of the cage top, and whipping only long enough to produce enough blood to cover his back or for him to pass out. His cries were music to their ears and generally they would laugh in response to the agonized screams. Sometimes, if they were cruel enough, they would dip their own fingers in his fresh blood. They would then illustrate upon the burlap sack that lay upon his face what they interpreted lay beneath with the strange medium. Some nights they beat him for no reason at all. If he was lucky enough, they would all partake in a large amount of alcohol and all of them would pass out. On those nights in particular he would lean towards the edge of his cage and listen for the music. Yes, the violin music that the head prostitute would play once everyone else was asleep. The sweet notes had intrigued Erik, and also given him passion and love within his soul, despite all that he knew was the cruelties and pain of the world. Although he had never seen her, the guttural tongue of the gypsies had disclosed eventually what the instrument was and who was playing it. On the worst of nights, she would be in the middle of a beautiful piece and one of the guards would awaken. The hangover for the damnable creature would be so painful that even the music was peircingly painful (not that Erik really had any pity) so he would stamp angrily to the flap of the tent and drunkedly throw one of the empty wine bottles in the direction of her tent. That, of course, would end the music. Erik would then to turn his back to the guards, so they could not see him cry himself to sleep. Crying was a weakness, something mosters were not supposed to be able to do. The sight of tears would only get him beaten.

Another scream and the thud interrupted Erik's thoughts. It had been a woman that had leaned forward to view him as he was deep in his memories. Apparently as his musings had shifted to the violin music, he had moved one side of mouth into a smile. It had been too much of a grotesque sight for the specator and she had fainted. She was completely unconscious with a twisted look of pain on her face, two men had rushed to her side to drag her out.

Erik sighed and sat back against the edge of the cage, turning his face to the side to hide a tear that slid down his cheek. A sharp sting interrupted his moment of peace as the pain ripped across his neck. The clang of the metal bar was enough to jar Erik back into a sitting position as he whipped around to see what had caused it.

The large black eyes bore into his own with a menacing glare.

"you will turn that devil born cheek of yours to the people. They paid to see it, so they will see all of it!" the whip tore through the cage and wrapped itself around Erik's calf and quickly disappeared as the gypsy flicked his wrist. The pain was intense as Erik fell to his knees, the coiling welt was stinging along his leg like a snake slithering up and into the muscle tissue. He heard the snap of the whip again, and instinctively sat up as sharp as he could and as he was classically trained.. turned his face to the crowd.

A sharp gasp rose up from them..

"Monster!" some said..

"How could god possibly let a creature like this live!" others would yell..

But mostly the screams haunted him.

Oh god those screams.

Even though he had only been ten at that time.

The screams..

Tears began running down Erik's cheeks as he lay in the bed. Remembering those terrible bandages that he had self constructed in his life before. He then ripped the ones currently on his hands. Underneath the bandages, his hands were scabbed over. The crusty flesh was nothing like the soft hands of a genius he had previously owned. In his delierious world he had created for himself ontop of the Opera Populaire, his actions had taken away the only thing he had honestly held value in.

His hands. The creators of music, poetry, writings, designs for buildings.. Now they were healing from his own doing, perhaps to never perform again.

Erik couldn't take it any more, he had to leave the cabin. He had to leave the ship.

"Where will you go?" his conscious rang out into his head. "Everything you have ever loved, you have lost. Now even your hands cannot create the beauty that you desired to own in your own heart. The only gift that god gave to you, you destroyed. Look at what you've done.." the voice mocked.. "You _Monster_".

"NOOO!" Erik screamed and ran to the door, pounding at it with his fists. "No! Let me out! NOW!" Erik continued to pound against the door for a long time and then he finally collapsed against it, Exhausted from what seemed like hours of frantic pounding, he slid down the edge of the door frame. His bloody hands slipped over a hidden mechanism and a door slid open from behind the bed.

Nadir had heard the cries from his own room and leapt to get out of his bed. As he moved to the edge, a sharp and agonizing pain took his chest and he fell back into the expanse of covers. Entangled in both sheets and pain he was unable to force his body to rise to the sound of his struggling friend in the bowels of the ship.

"Oh, no" Nadir rasped, "not right now.." He grasped his chest as the pain became deeper and more agonizing. His entire body felt as if it were being crushed under a wave of water, his arm in particular was stinging and wracked with agony. "Eri..k.." Nadir cried as he fell back, fighting for every breath he took, and then slowly the breath died out and stopped.

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_Bwahaha.. Read and review, encourage me to write more please ;)_


	7. Anguish, Escape and Fur

_Author's note: So I'm doing some character construction and I just also realized that it's Leroux Gaston, not the other way around >. Oh, I'm ever so special. Anyway, thank you for the reviews! I appreciate each one of them! And for the person that mentioned they were lost, please leave another review explaining what may have been unclear and possibly even an e-mail address so I can explain. I would hate for anyone not to be clear on this._

Music for Chapter: Psycho theme from the original Alfred Hitchcock (yes, I can see the smiles now. Just read it)

Chapter 7: Anguish, Escape and Fur

It felt like it had been a few hours since his escape from his room. Erik had quickly climbed behind the bed and out through the secret passageway. After he had climbed up behind the headboard and out into the hallway, there had been nothing but pitch darkness. The passageways were narrow, so narrow that even Erik's thin frame could not walk evenly through the walkway. He had to turn to his side and inch along, edging step by step. Anyone else would have actually inched at a very slow pace, but Erik's mind was consumed by the memories of the gypsies and the screams of the spectators. His urgent need to escape from the confines of his room had overtaken him as he blindly moved forward around the edges of the secret passageway.

"FREAK" they cried.

"Phénomène laid" they screamed.

"Démon" the voices accused.

Erik's eyes rolled into his head as he continued forward. His feet leading him away from the outraged cries from his memories ringing inside of his head. Tears streaming down his cheeks as he forced himself forward"Away, I have to get away." He whispered as he lurched forward.

As he moved onward, his feet tripped across a large object which sent him tumbling down atop his hands. His fingertips scraped across the woodboards, then palms met to the boards with the force of his weight behind it. The freshly scabbed flesh was torn off, and Erik let out a yelp of sheer agony.

Although he tried to pull himself back onto his feet, his body refused to be lifted. His sobs became more violent and louder, moving throughout his entire body. The darkness completely consumed his sight and seeped into his very bones. Within the inky blackness, the object he tripped upon was gone. It had mysteriously disappeared after he landed. However another figure moved about in the darkness. It moved up to his face, the soft fur brushed his cheeks and dried a few of the tears as the small felinic face brushed against his own.

"Meow" Shiva voiced while rubbing her face against his own. Her mews were soft and comforting and her mannerisms were close to what a mother cat would do for her own kitten.

Erik laid there for a moment in confusion in the darkness. Realizing that he was no longer in the bedroom, he found himself in the dark passageway with that damnable creature before him. Treating him lovingly as if nothing had happened, but Erik did indeed remember the first run-in with the animal.

"You." he hissed.

"Merowr"

Not waiting for another moment to pass, Erik leaped to his feet after the creature. Shiva, startled from his movement, and ran off into the passageways. She was desperate to get away from the brute that now leaped after her. Erik ran blindly in the darkness after her. He ran into walls, even fell down a few times, but persisted in chasing after the creature, listening for the pads of her paws along the planks. Up, down, and around so many bends and turns, Erik's sense of direction was completely off and he no longer knew where he was or how long he had been in those tunnels. But all that fed his mind now was to find that creature and break her neck. As he continued, he began to notice that he could no longer hear her. Frustrated, he ran to what he believed was another turn in the tunnel. When he turned the corner, his eyes adjusted to virtually no light (after so many years underneath the opera house he had no problem doing this) pin pointing the exact location of the animal. Her frightened green eyes were staring up at him from the corner she was backed into.

"Thought you could get away, didn't you" Erik sneered as he slowly moved meanancingly towards Shiva. His eyes were filled with rage and pain. "I have spent so many years being mocked, hurt, and I am not about to let a mere feline do the same thing. Twice at that." He then leaped at the creature to grab her. She leapt underneath him and fled down the hallway. Erik's strength had been depleted from his time in bed and the illness he refused to acknowledge, so his ability to dodge the wall ahead of him was gone.

He crashed through the wood; it gave way easily underneath his weight. The wood splinters went everywhere as he landed in a large kitchen area on the other side. The wood was a poor cushion underneath him as it was lumpy and the landing was not exactly the most graceful of Erik's career of tumbling. Beaneath him the wood moved roughly up and down.

Erik was losing consciousness; his hands had bled the entire time he had been running around in the tunnels and the impact of the wall was more then his body could take. His vision and other senses were leaving in the quickly enclosing darkness. He then felt the lump underneath him lift and cry out in agonized frustration.

"_Diable s'est-il juste produit! Qu'a débarqué sur moi_ " (What the hell? What just hit me?). A masculine and yet humorously high pitched voice called out in pain. Jumping out from underneath the pile, a man of much smaller stature stood before Erik's vision before it faded out. A face of contorted rage and anger stared down at him as two small hands reached in front of his face. The hands were wrapped around his throat before long, squeezing as hard as rock.

"You" the voice cried out at him in recognition.

Erik then fell unconscious.


	8. An Eye for Detail

_Author's note: Hi everyone, sorry for the wait. It happens with school and everything . Many of you out there know exactly what I mean. Anyway, this is a brand new spanking chapter! Do enjoy!_

Chapter 8: An Eye for Detail

"You took my world away," a voice echoed throughout Erik's head.

His head felt very heavy as he laid out on the same empty and void landscape of all his other nightmares. Erik attempted to lift his head to find the source of the voice, though he already knew in the pit of his stomach who it belonged to.

"My world was nothing but darkness and pain, you gave me a false light. Why?" Christine's voice began to echo about him as he continued the struggle to sit up.

"What do you mean I gave you false light? I am not capable of light! I am a creature of darkness!" Erik cried as he gained an unknown strength and sat up. Just as he lifted his head and stood up, his figure came into contact with her. Christine stood before him with a bland and stoic gaze, dressed in the brilliant white gown she had been fitted for the Hannibal production.

The brilliant white silk was embroidered with the starlight burst design in traditional design for the fashion; large billowing skirts and a tight corset that pushed her breasts into an impressive display amongst folds of cloth carefully arranged about the edges of her shoulders. He remembered this dress so well, the very first time she had sung with her voice, no, his voice solo on stage. The first time those pathetic managers had given his Christine the chance to prove herself. He could feel no warmth coming from her skin as she stood before him, her eyes devoid of the passion and warmth that he had previously seen.

"I was alone in this world.. You pretended to be something that was promised to me to gain entrance to my life.. You lied to me." her words were filled with a dry pain, like a set of nails being dragged across the stone pavements of Paris.

Erik opened his mouth to protest and list the amount of lies she had produced against him, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the completely lifeless nature that Christine's posture took before him. It was exactly like a porcelain doll. Or maybe something within him had stirred.

"You may say that I left you.. Yes. I lied to you. To protect what I loved." Christine continued. "But take into consideration my Maestro.. that I loved you as well, but in a way that you would never understand."

"So that is why you left!" Erik suddenly found himself only a few inches from her face, screaming ferociously into her pale features. "This is why you abandoned the very man that created you! That Vicomte would have never noticed you had I not placed you on that stage! I own you! YOU BELONG TO.." his voice died within his throat as he studied his features. She had not even flinched as he had advanced on her. She had not even blinked. Even though his face was only an inch from her own, he felt no breath coming from her. Her eyes were blank and cold, like two pools of deep mud instead of the brilliantly lit earthen tones. Though they were right in front of him, they stared right through him to something in the distance. Her entire body still radiated no heat or any presence at that. It was almost as if he were standing in the presences of a..

"I am nothing but a porcelain doll to you. That is all I would have been had I stayed and married you. Another object to place amongst the many you had ruthlessly stolen from others and the opera itself" her voice echoed, though her lips moved, no warm breath moved over his face that rested only a few inches from her own. "You know deep inside of your heart that this was true, this is why you let me go."

Something within his heart stirred, though the rest of his mind fought against the realization that had been planted. There was no turning back, the seed had been placed and the ideal began to grow. The roaring sensations of obsession and pain overthrew the epiphany in a heartbeat and Erik leaned forward.

"Are you not afraid! I was your angel! Your GOD!" he roared into her face, attempting to gain some form of response from the solid figure in front of him.

She had not moved a single bit as his power had flowed from him. Every time he yelled like this on previous occasions under the opera, she had cowered and began to cry profusely. Though the sight had broken his heart every single time, he had felt it necessary to create a display of such raw power to her. To know that she felt his wrath, just as anyone else had in his lifetime. That he still had power over the very creature that seemed to steal that very power with a single glance. But this time she had not budged. Her unnatural stance and posture was still as stiff as before, and her eyes still stared straight through him.

"I never feared your face. Nor will I ever fear your anger again" her eyes then slit shut as a porcelain doll's would and she remained stone silent.

"Christine?"

The figure remained silent.

"No.. "

"Not again!" Erik then leaned over and pressed his lips against her own lips. His mind raced at the possibility of feeling her warm lips against his own again. "Though the first time we had shared a kiss it had tenderness and warmth of desperation and pain, this time would be different" he argued in his mind. However, the minute his lips reached her own, it was cool porcelain that met his touch.

Frightened, he pulled back just in time to see the figurine of Christine begin to crack. The smooth and perfect texture of her flesh began to separate into fine hair lines. Her limbs fell from her figure and then she collapsed as a whole: Porcelain pieces flying in every direction, millions which could never be placed together again. The exquisite dress laid in a heap of broken pieces as Erik fell to his knees upon the sharp pottery. Just then he felt a sharp pain in his lip. Lifting his gloved hand, he felt the corner of his lips and pulled a piece of the porcelain out of the flesh. Upon scrutinization he realized that it was the piece that was once her lips, it had buried a sharp edge deeply into the corner of his mouth. Blood was seeping down the front of his throat and down his chest.

"Remember.." the lips formed the words as Christine's unearthly tone echoed around him in the darkness.

Erik's eyes fluttered open after what felt like an eternity of darkness had enveloped his mind. His vision was incredibly blurry, but he was still able to make out the unmistakable glaring eyes that were only inches from his own. The two hazel orbs glowered in incredible anger and hatred, one that Erik only recognized from having looked in a mirror. But, his eyes were amber and gold... Who was this?

"Remember!" a rough tone shrieked in French. Erik could feel the spittle upon his own face from the ferocity of the voice that screamed at him.

It belonged to a very angrily, contorted face. The flat nose and broad forehead indicated it was not a particularly attractive individual. The large lips began to open and close again, though the words came slowly to Erik's realization.

"You took everything away from me!" another sharp sting came to Erik's cheek. He then attempted to lift his arm to touch his lip where it had been bleeding in the dream. However, he found that he could not move his arms. After moving slightly, he found that both his hands had been tied tightly behind his back. Erik then began to notice the environment around him. There was a cool salty breeze across his face, including the exposed flesh from his missing mask. The rustle of several figures standing around and below him, and the murmuring of a large crowd that watched carefully at the situation.

"Laroth.. Perhaps we should wait for the Captain. You know that he is very particular about the ships situation." another voice intervened.

Erik then opened his eyes to greet the sight before him. Around him stood thirty to forty men, staring up at him with awe and with a strange mix of fright. Though Erik had stood before many 'spectators' before, he had never experience a crowd like this. Their eyes spoke of a fear that resided within the action that would occur, not a mixture of grotesque fear and fascination of the creature that stood before them. Though his mind fought to use the explanation of the gypsy camp before this, his heart knew otherwise as he stared out at the faces of these men.

When Erik lifted his gaze further he found that he was surrounded by wooden planks and raised upon a platform above it all. Large poles, with ropes and rope ladders hanging methodically around the decorated edges that spread out to an endless sea that sparkled with the midnight stars and the full moon. He instantly knew he was on the deck of the Asclepius. His attention then returned sharply to his own position as a small hand once again came flying across his face.

"Silence Kiae! You and the captain can speak of this later! Rules are rules, any stowaway is killed upon discovery!" the voice burst out.

Erik's gaze then followed the voice and the hand that struck him. He found that his gaze found a very small man standing atop many crates to meet Erik's six-foot height. He was dressed in a simple dress shirt and trousers, tied about his waist with an intricately decorated belt, perhaps torn from a large silk masterpiece. The face was the one he had awoken to. The hazel eyes were blazing with that familiar anger and the man was obviously fighting to control himself. The figure looked like nothing less than a lion held within a half open cage before a large side of blood soaked beef.

Before Erik could continue his assement of the smaller man he rapidly reached up and threw something over Erik's neck. Another man approached, and gripped the rope tightly.

"Laroth, I never heard the captain speak of such things.." he spoke to the smaller man.

"You will obey my orders Kiae, as the highest ranking crewman present." Laroth spat back.

"This is a man's life you speak of, not some simple animal to be put to death. I will not allow any more action before hearing the captain's final word." Kiae spat back. Erik then rolled his eyes to observe the other individual. He was tall, lean, of a darker skin much like the slaves he had witnessed in the palace of the Shah. Though his voice betrayed any assumption that Erik could take on his origin, as he spoke perfect French. His face had a sharply curved jaw and the larger broad nose common to Africa. Just as Erik continued his scrutiny of Kiae, he turned to face Erik. It was then that Erik noticed that the flesh where his right eye should have been was completely covered over. Smooth and flawless like the rest of his face, but completely lacking an eyeball. Erik continued to stare at the stranger standing up for him as he looked back at him. Kiae's eye showed a soft kindness and a stern concern. "Monsieur, if I bring the captain will you be able to explain yourself?"

Erik opened his mouth to speak, however a sharp stab of pain and a gush of blood met his movement. He let out a muffled cry of pain and hung his head, watching the droplets of blood and spittle fall from his lips. The loss of blood from the beatings he had endured had taken its toll and Erik fell unconscious again, this time at the feet of Kiae.

Kiae had watched the pitiful figure fall before him and had quickly removed the rope about his neck before he fell. Lifting his hand, Kiae indicated for a few of the crewmen to fetch the captain. Two of the crewmen towards the back detached from the staring masses and ran to the other end of the boat. Kiae then reached down to the figure and stared up at Laroth with a hint of anger to his single glare.

"Where did you get this man?" he stated, his nerves and voice frayed at the edge of impatience.

"That is no business of yours, this is a personal score of honor! How DARE you interfere!" Laroth replied as he moved down the boxes towards the African man. "This creature has killed, destroyed, and shattered more lives then you will ever know!"

Kiae's eyebrow lifted, "So you know him. He's not just a stowaway.."

A small cry of shock and echo of disapproval ran through the on looking crew. Laroth backed away and stood with a ferocious pride that not even a lion could back down from. "This is no business of yours.." he spat.

Kiae smiled faintly and picked up the fallen figure of Erik, "now it is.." As Kiae turned away, Laroth made a hand gesture towards another figure in the crowd. The figure stealthily reached behind Kiae and snatched the limp figure from his shoulder. Just as Kiae whipped about to know the meaning of his stolen goods, another hand came from the crowd and punched him, knocking him from the platform and to the lower deck. His body then lay unmoving where it landed.

"Thank you Seti, I shall note to the Captain how well you obeyed orders when he awakens.." Laroth smiled as he replaced the noose about Erik's unconscious form. "May this all be a lesson to each of you!" Laroth then turned to the crowd as Seti moved to place the lifeless form over the edge of the platform. "That a captain's order, is a captains order.." his hand then fell to indicate the execution.

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